I Can’t Let You…

 I Can’t Let You…


My right calf muscle

Has got a flower shaped

Bruise from a bite

my daughter gave me

that one time I said 

no, and it was hot, and she

was hungry.


It matches the one

on my right bicep

that I got in terror. 

You see, my son 

hates needles and 

he required a shot.


“Do they ever mind?” My father

asks, reminding me again,

how his father used

the belt.


“I’m sorry that happened 

to you.” Is all I can think to say

My flower-bruises

blooming more beautifully 

underneath my skin.

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